


Three Times Aziraphale Wrapped Crowley Around His Little Finger and One Time He Didn’t Get Away With It

by Dusty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Brat Aziraphale, Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Domestic Discipline, Dominance, Fluff, Growly demon, Humour, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Kink, Mopeds, Naughty little angel, Pouting, Service Top, Smut, Spanking, Sub Aziraphale, Subby Aziraphale, but so cute, playful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: Post the a-not-alypse, feeling their way together as lovers, Aziraphale pouts at Crowley for anything he wants or needs. Crowley is growing impatient...





	Three Times Aziraphale Wrapped Crowley Around His Little Finger and One Time He Didn’t Get Away With It

**Strike 1**

‘Oh look at my mug! It’s broken.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up. ‘Oh what a shame. Pity you don’t have supernatural powers to instantly repair it.’

Aziraphale pouted. ‘You know how I feel about that,’ he whined. A silence passed during which Crowley assumed the angel was pleading with him using his big, innocent eyes. 

The lament continued. ‘It’s never going to be like it was. I’ll always know. The cocoa won’t taste the same.’

Another long pause. Crowley refused to look up, even though the sulking was palpable. There was a sort of worrying in the air that he knew was the nervous wringing of hands.

‘Ask,’ said Crowley firmly.

Aziraphale said nothing for several seconds, then murmured. ‘It was a gift, you know.’

Crowley scowled into his book. His voice became low and threatening. ‘Ask, Aziraphale. Ask nicely.’

Another few seconds of silence elapsed, during which Crowley was becoming cross. 

‘Please,’ said Aziraphale quietly. ‘Please could you mend it for me?’ 

Crowley gave a heavy sigh and set the book down. He turned to Aziraphale and looked at him sternly. ‘Come here,’ he ordered calmly. He held his hand out and the angel obediently went to him. 

Crowley gently took the angel’s hands in his and glared _glarefully_ at his chastened friend. ‘If you want something from me, you ask. You know you’re not to manipulate me by being a sulky brat. 

Aziraphale looked down at his feet, hanging his head slightly. ‘Sorry,’ he said, so sweetly that Crowley wanted to crush him up into little stars. He also wanted to give him a good smack on his round, petulant bottom. 

He did neither, but stood, and letting go of the angel’s hands, swaggered over to the offending broken china. He looked back at Aziraphale who was watching earnestly, his breath shallow. Crowley rolled his eyes, then _blew a kiss_ at the breakage, which reassembled like large synchronised snowflakes. The mug rocked a little as it came back together, then stilled, perfect, on the coffee table. 

‘Thank you,’ breathed Aziraphale, adoringly. Crowley held back a sneer and went back to his book.

Aziraphale ran into the kitchen to make some cocoa.  


**Strike 2**

‘You did what?’ asked Crowley, who was enjoying his second large glass of wine after a long, sunny day out with his angel.

‘I left the book in Tadfield.’ Aziraphale was wringing his hands again. 

‘Well you can go back and get it then.’ Crowley took a good slug of wine. There was no way he was prepared to sober up and drive all the way back because of a stupid book. 

Aziraphale stood right in front of him and gave his best pout. ‘I can’t - frivolous miracles could get the wrong kind of attention from head office. I really need it - it’s helping me with the translations I’ve been working on. It must be under the great oak from where we picnicked.’

Crowley picked up a wine bottle and pretended to read the label. ‘There’s probably a bus around this time.’ 

‘But it’s dark and it’s late!’ he complained. 

‘Ask,’ scolded Crowley, now looking steadily at the sorry mess of an ethereal being in front of him.

The angel bit his lip. ‘Please, Crowley. Drive me back to go and get it. We can’t leave it until tomorrow in case someone finds it.’

‘No,’ said Crowley. ‘You left it behind. You spent the entire journey complaining about my driving, the entire picnic complaining that I hadn’t buttered the sandwiches properly, and now when I finally get to relax with a crate of wine, here you are suddenly treating me like I’m your best friend so I can bail you out.’

Aziraphale huffed. ‘I thought you said you’d take me anywhere I wanted to go,’ he said cooly.  

The demon raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? You’re going to try that? I seem to remember you saying I went too fast, among other things.’ He put his feet up on the table.

Aziraphale shifted on his feet. Glancing at him, Crowley could tell he was feeling very sorry for himself. After a little soul searching during which he presumably realised that being unkind was not going to work, he got closer to Crowley and knelt down in front of him.

‘ _Please_ ,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been a pain all day. It’s my fault I left the book. But please take me back to get it, I’ll do anything.’

His warm hands encircled Crowley’s wrists like silk, and the demon could taste the remorse in the air. Aziraphale sensed his chance and tried a little harder. ‘I’m sorry Crowley,’ he said, leaning his head on the demon’s arm. It was a shining act of submission. 

Crowley used the frustration he felt to fuel his sobering up and stood, lifting the angel up by his elbows. He pointed a finger in his face. ‘I will drive at whatever fucking speed I want and you will say nothing, or I’ll put you out of the car where ever we happen to be. Is that clear?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Aziraphale, beaming. ‘Thank you so much!’ 

Crowley tried to remain immune to Aziraphale’s unbridled delight and guided him to the car. 

‘I mean it, angel. One word from you...’

 ‘I’ll be good I promise!’

And he was.   
  
  
**Strike 3**

‘Not like that!’ groaned Aziraphale.

‘Then like what?’ snipped Crowley. ‘Do you want me to perform these stupid little miracles or not?’

‘Yes!’ wailed the angel. ‘But you can’t do it like that. You have to create the parking spaces for the people who need them, not just anyone. That horrid man didn’t deserve a spot right outside the coffee shop. He parked with his phone still in his hand for heaven’s sake!’

Crowley rolled his eyes. A whole afternoon of trying to live up to Aziraphale’s sanctimonious parking karma and all he got was complaints. 

The angel cheered up at the sight of a Volvo with a disabled pass. ‘There!’ he cried. ‘There’s your opportunity. She needs a space. I think a spontaneous towing should do it.’

‘Aziraphale,’ said Crowley with considerable warning in his voice. ‘That man has been parked for less than two minutes. Towing won’t make sense.’

‘It does if you make it a disabled spot.’ He eyes were bright, twinkling with mischief. 

Crowley put his hands on his hips and tried not to think about his days of nannying the antichrist. ‘You are out of control,’ he scolded. ‘I can’t believe you went so many millennia with just a reprimand.’ 

The famous pout appeared again. ‘She needs somewhere to park, Crowley. She has a disabled pass.’

The demon took a deep breath and clicked his fingers, just as the Volvo approached. The parked car vanished, and the Volvo driver gasped and swung into the empty spot with a look of elated astonishment. 

‘There,’ intoned Aziraphale, clapping his hands together and grinning from ear to ear. ‘Look what you did!’

Crowley slowly sidled up and looked at him darkly over his sunglasses. ‘Angel,’ he hissed. ‘You can’t perform every miracle on a whim. You are in need of more than a strongly worded note.’

Aziraphale blushed. The first driver stepped out of the coffee shop, sipping his newly purchased beverage, and stood in a state of dumbfounded confusion for several long moments. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. ‘W-where did you send his car?’

Crowley sniffed. ‘Sad story, in the end. It got stolen really quickly. No witnesses. Some joyrider has the time of their life and they’ve dumped it in Kings Cross.’

‘Crowley!’ squeaked Aziraphale. ‘That’s not what…’

Crowley rounded on him. ‘It’s not exactly what you had in mind, angel - I know. I don’t do exactly what you want, exactly how you want, and I don’t do your bidding and I don’t do nice things for people. And when I try to help you, you could show some gratitude.’

He stalked off, and Aziraphale dashed after him, calling his name, but Crowley didn’t slow down. ‘Well you are just an evil bastard after all!’ shouted the angel. The demon stopped in his tracks, as did Aziraphale. Crowley turned. There were several feet between them as they stared at one another. Aziraphale could feel himself started to panic. Crowley steadily crooked his finger, beckoning the angel. 

Aziraphale nervously adjusted his coat and glanced around. No one cared about another lovers’ tiff in Soho square, so no one was paying any attention. He bravely walked up to Crowley. 

‘What did you say?’ asked the demon in a low rumble. The air hung heavy with threat. 

‘Oh - nothing!’ said Aziraphale quickly, his cheeks burning at the sight of Crowley, all black and limber, and positively simmering with displeasure. 

The angel squirmed. He’d been on the receiving end of Crowley’s superlative withering glare only a small number of times in 6000 years, but he always knew that he’d really crossed a line when those eyes flashed at him just so over the sunglasses, and those lips were pursed together so very tightly. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he added, his throat dry. 

‘Aziraphale,’ said Crowley evenly. ‘We are going back to your shop now. Follow me.’ 

With a gulp, the angel did as he was told. 

Crowley stalked into the shop and with a click of his fingers locked the doors the moment behind Aziraphale was inside. A few of the candles spontaneous lit. He turned and looked at his agitated angel who was clearly trying to think of some clever words. 

 Aziraphale spoke solemnly. ‘Crowley, I know you’re very angry with me, and I’m sorry I was a pain. I don’t mean to be. I get carried away. Please let me make it up to you.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ asked Crowley mildly. ‘You can’t teach me to be good, angel. So don’t waste your time.’

‘Crowley, you are good! You’re my best friend, my… just as you are. I don’t mean to be…’

‘Righteous, pompous, supercilious…’ Crowley scowled at him. 

‘No,’ muttered the angel miserably. ‘I just meant to... to show you my world. That’s all I was doing.’

 Crowley took off his sunglasses. His golden eyes were softer now.

‘I am already in your world. This is our world. This is our side.’

The angel looked ashamed. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry to have been so very overbearing.’ 

‘It’s been happening a lot lately, angel, hasn’t it?’ said Crowley casually. 

‘Um,’ said Aziraphale, looking anywhere but Crowley. 

Crowley continued with a strange indifference. ‘I keep thinking I should do something about it.’ 

Aziraphale looked utterly forlorn, and Crowley realised he was probably agonising over the idea of him leaving forever, or murdering all the houseplants in the land, which would be an atrocity.

The demon smirked. ‘Come here, Aziraphale,’ he said. 

The angel flinched at the full and deliberate use of his name, but obeyed, and went to stand in front of Crowley.

‘You need discipline, angel,’ Crowley said. ‘No more little written reprimands or warnings.’ Crowley put his hands on the angel’s hips and drew him in close. ‘Remember the safe word we discussed? I think we should have an agreement, for when you get carried away. Don’t you?’ 

Aziraphale gave a subdued nod, but leaned closer in, and Crowley was sorely reminded he had a heart when he felt it crack a little. He held the angel close to him, letting the muffled apologies resonate against his chest like a witch’s healing spell. 

‘I’m sorry too,’ said Crowley. ‘But I can’t be the angel you want me to be.’  

Aziraphale looked up, startled. He squared up, resolute. ‘I don’t want you to be an angel, Crowley,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m enough of a pious bastard for both of us, as you know.’

Crowley snorted into a wolf grin. Aziraphale’s eyes danced with delight at the smile. Standing on tiptoe, he placed a firm kiss on the demon’s mouth.  

‘Oi, don’t change the subject,’ chided Crowley, gripping the angel by the upper arms. But he was unable to stop himself returning the little kisses that were being liberally planted on him. They pulled each other closer.

‘This is not what I had in mind, angel,’ growled Crowley, in between moans and just catching the angel’s tongue with his.

‘Let me make it up to you,’ said Aziraphale, in that magical, chocolatey tone of pure love and redemption that made Crowley’s knees weaken. ‘I promise we can agree an agreement later. But please, let me make love to you. Let me…let me...’

And Crowley let him. With a partially demonic and partially angelic miracle in the shape of a plush sheepskin rug, and by candlelight, the angel reminded the demon exactly why being wicked was so very good for both of them. 

 

**Strike 4**

‘You’re grounded,’ said Crowley, to the Aziraphale’s extremely smug expression the following morning. 

‘Yes, Crowley,’ he answered sweetly, sipping his tea and exuding innocence with big bright eyes.

The demon eyed him suspiciously. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Nothing,’ said the angel, angelically. ‘I have several chores and errands to see to around the shop. I’m sure that will keep me out of trouble.’

‘It had better,’ warned Crowley. He kissed Aziraphale tenderly before sauntering towards the door. ‘I’ll be back in time for a late lunch.’

‘Will you be that long?’ asked Aziraphale, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

‘It’s this stupid bloody temptation,’ explained Crowley. ‘I don’t wanna make a fuss by not doing it - trying to keep a low profile and all that, same as you. I’ll be back just as soon as I’ve got the red arrows on board. It’s gonna be hilarious!’ He grinned broadly.

Aziraphale managed a weak smile. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of demons meddling with airshows, though knowing Crowley it probably was just to draw boobs and willies in the sky.

‘See you then,’ he said kindly. 

Crowley gave a dorky salute as he left, his walk with just that extra swagger, thought the angel, surely due to their night of lovemaking. 

Aziraphale felt utterly gleeful, and with renewed focus, went about his daily errands. 

That lasted about 90 minutes, at which point Aziraphale decided he would likely burst into flames if he didn’t get outside and see what Crowley was up to. He tried not to think about how jealous he felt about Crowley getting to have all the fun. He shut up shop, and remembering his recent jaunt on a moped, miracled one whilst trying to think very clearly about good things so that if heaven were tuned-in, they would sense he was doing God’s work.  

He had a lot to thank Madame Tracy for, but this was the best thing ever. He flew down the road, and then up above the road, until 30 miles later when he landed at the west London airfield with a bump. He parked the moped out of the way and scurried behind some stadium seating, where a small crowd was watching the display. 

As he predicted, a small jet was drawing a large penis in mid air with its contrails. He could hear nervous titters from the audience, plus one angry male voice talking about someone’s career being over. 

Another jet flew by, as the penis trails faded, and started to draw a circle. Aziraphale realised at once that this would surely be the first of two big breasts. Before he could help himself, he sent a strong thought to the pilot. The jet wobbled slightly, and created a perfect fluffy love heart in baby pink. 

‘Ahh,’ he breathed, pleased with his work. 

The crowd broke out in applause. Then a voice he recognised sounded: ‘ _What. The. Hell?_ ’

Crowley. Aziraphale doubled back to the moped and made a swift exit. 

He made it back to the shop nice and quickly, congratulating himself on his moped driving skills. He gave a clap, focusing on returning the moped to wherever he had pulled it from the first time, and pulled his door keys out to get back in the shop. 

The door was not locked. He pushed it open. Crowley was standing there, arms folded across his chest, and glaring at him with burning yellow eyes. 

‘FUCK,’ said Aziraphale, out of pure fright. And where he should have recovered from the surprise, was a swell of dark apprehension.

Crowley was so still and silent, for a moment the angel thought he might be a shop window dummy, left there to scare him. But then one eyebrow went up.

Aziraphale swallowed. ‘Oh, Crowley! You got here fast. A miracle, I expect. Well obviously I had instructions to thwart any, um, airborne demonic activity so I popped on a moped - you should see my lane changes I’m getting very good - and just, uh, tweaked things so as not to upset the families or get the poor pilots into too much trouble. All in a day’s work!’ He gave a little cough, his throat strangely dry.

‘Instructions?’ asked Crowley softly. 

‘Um - yes. Well,’ Aziraphale blustered, rubbing his rather sweaty palms on his coat.

‘You received instructions?’

The angel’s stomach fluttered. He feebly met Crowley’s gaze. ‘Um…’

‘ _Aziraphale…_ ’

The angel shrank a little. If his wings had been present, they would have drooped considerably. “No,’ he said guiltily. ‘I didn’t. I just wanted to… be involved.’ 

Crowley stepped towards him. ‘I had a perfect picture planned and you spoiled it. You disobeyed my instructions to stay in. You performed unauthorised miracles, and then you lied to me.’

Aziraphale thought miserably that it was such a shame his new moped skills would never get the recognition they deserved, lost as they were in a whirlpool of misadventure. In fact, he felt strongly that any good deeds might be very much put into the background for now. 

‘Do you have anything to say for yourself? Anything at all? Because now’s your chance.’

The angel meekly shook his head and kept his eye line down. He heard Crowley’s footfalls, slow and deliberate, getting closer. Aziraphale winced as he was divested of his coat. He suddenly smiled up at the displeased demon. ‘Allow me to make it up to you!’ he said smoothly, gracing Crowley’s chest with his hand and trying to exude as much love in his eyes as possible.

‘Oh Hell no!’ scolded Crowley. He caught his angel by the elbow and led him over to a hard-backed chair. They both knew what that meant. 

‘You have 5 seconds to say a particular word, Aziraphale. 5 seconds. 4, 3, 2, 1…’

No word came. Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut, preparing himself. Crowley sat down and pulled the angel over his knee in a deft move only a demon could master. 

How he spanked his angel. A fusillade of smacks over the seat of his trousers which elicited a good deal of complaining, and after some clumsy tugging and wriggling, several more smacks on his bare bottom. Aziraphale made a terrible, glorious fuss.

‘You really are a little devil,’ admonished Crowley, applying one or two slaps to the legs as they were kicked out. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’ He carried on raining down swats, turning the pearly white behind a throbbing rose pink. 

‘No!’ 

Several more smacks followed, with the angel gradually becoming more pliant in Crowley’s lap, though still squirming. His hands flew back to protect his punished backside. Crowley smacked them out of the way. 

Once the angel’s protests subsided into soft cries, Crowley ended the spanking with one hard whack. Only then did he register the kind of movements the angel was making. With increasing urgency and little gasps, Aziraphale was thrusting himself against Crowley’s firm thigh. 

Crowley smiled to himself and held him in place, for leverage. He rubbed the angel’s back. ‘There you are,’ he breathed. ‘That’s what you need, isn’t it...’ 

The sheepskin rug appeared again. Crowley gently manoeuvred them onto it. Beneath him was a very pink and very aroused angel. The demon groaned at the vision and shimmied out of his jeans and underwear as fast as he could. Clothing pulled or kicked off, Crowley lowered himself over the writhing creature below.

‘Crowley!’ keened Aziraphale, reaching for the demon’s erection. 

‘I’m going to make love to you,’ threatened Crowley.

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I was rather hoping you would fuck me.’

Crowley gave his angelic miscreant one last glare before throwing the lily white legs over his shoulders and lining himself up. He murmured a miracle. Aziraphale understood it immediately and threw his head back with a filthy moan. Crowley effortlessly sank in, with blissful ease, everything taken care of. As requested, he proceeded to fuck his angel. 

‘You don’t deserve this,’ he panted, trying to keep his thoughts together. 

‘I know...’ whimpered Aziraphale. 

Crowley withdrew, flipped Aziraphale over and covered him with his body. He miracled a cushion to support the angel’s hips, then entered him again none too gently. His hot breath warmed the angel’s ear as he whispered to him in gruff bursts.

‘If you think, for one moment, that this isn’t only the beginning of your punishment and your schooling then you are sorely mistaken. I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you from now on, and you will be kept in order, is that clear?’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ intoned Aziraphale into the rug as Crowley’s fingers interlaced with his. Every thrust resulted in pleasured gasps. Crowley tried to keep a measured pace but it was hopeless. He'd never seen Aziraphale so lost.

The angel allowed himself to be thoroughly possessed. The friction of the cushion was perfect, the demon’s rutting was perfect, and the weight of Crowley was just enough to eradicate the weight of the world altogether. Aziraphale cried out and came, setting off Crowley at the same time. They rode through their ecstasy until they found themselves side by side, utterly boneless. 

The quiet that followed was the strangest most beautiful bliss. They shared delicious glances and breathy chuckles. Crowley’s hand lay on Aziraphale’s, stroking his fingers.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said.

‘I know,’ murmured his angel contentedly.

Moments passed, until a frown formed on the angel’s brow. ‘Crowley, where does this rug go when it’s not here?’

Crowley rolled his head over to look at his dopey angel. ‘The dry cleaner’s of course.’

**Author's Note:**

> This story (the airshow part) inspired a rather excellent and funny comic strip by OftenWrongSoong: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452079


End file.
